


Irresistible

by ComeAlongPond14



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Barebacking, Dom/sub, First Time, Flogging, M/M, Riding Crops, Rope Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2018-01-15 18:18:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1314532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComeAlongPond14/pseuds/ComeAlongPond14
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The very kind sherlock-and-john-getting-it-on gave me this prompt, which I am paraphrasing due to the fact that I'm pretty sure this counts as a fail. </p><p>In a nutshell, since most of my stuff is Dom!Sherlock, the prompt was "Dom!John fucking sub!Sherlock and being protective."</p><p>I hope this comes anywhere close to satisfying the kink! (Seriously for serious, I LOVE Dom!John, but I couldn't seem to write him!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Irresistible

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for giving anything away, but this needs a small disclaimer; Sherlock's safeword, 'autophobia' is the Latin term for fear of being isolated. This is a complicated word, and it's five syllables. As such, it should NOT be used as a BDSM safeword. But I really felt it suited Sherlock in this context, and I couldn't bring myself to change it.
> 
> Realistically, a safeword works best if it's short, memorable, NOT a homonym or foreign language, and could be distinctly understood if said through a gag. Hence why "red" is a good standard choice.

It started by accident.

Sherlock found photos saved on John's laptop, which showed John when he was younger, before his military days. He was never the main subject of the photos; when he was featured, it was only because he wielded the whip, or was delivering the spanking--always the Dominant partner. What took Sherlock's breath away, though, was that all of John's partners in the bondage scenarios were men.

And oh, how beautiful his army doctor looked, firm hands pinning down the muscular bodies, eyes dark and fierce as he dealt punishments, and gave pleasure and pain in equal measure. It was overwhelming to behold.

He left the photos open on the laptop, to let John know without a doubt that he had seen them. And then he had only to wait.

The first time was nothing, just a taunt, a hint of a promise; Sherlock spoke too harshly, an offhand comment that managed to wound a flustered officer's delicate ego, and John reacted by seizing his arm in warning. What stopped Sherlock speaking was not being grabbed, but rather, the intensity of John's grip. It was sure to leave a bruise, his fingers digging into the muscle above Sherlock's elbow with a warning squeeze that made his breath catch. Their eyes met, and he saw it there, the flicker of warning from the soldier--the _Captain_ \--to behave himself.

He might not have even counted it, but in the cab back to Baker St, he'd felt he had to know. "John--" he'd begun hesitantly, and was immediately cut off.

"No." There was no compromise in that voice. "Later, Sherlock."

Ah. Now that, he took as a guarantee.

The tension finally exploded when Sherlock snuck out on his own, took a case involving a potentially psychotic killer and chose not to tell John, or even call Lestrade for backup. He knew it was too dangerous, but he almost relished the risk, and the likelihood of a very satisfactory payoff.

* * *

When Sherlock entered the living room of 221B that night, he found John seated in his own armchair, the imposing black leather a stark contrast to his white button down, and a pleasant accent to his nondescript black slacks. The doctor was seated in a relaxed pose, one ankle crossed across the other leg, hands resting on the armrests. There was a familiar expression of mild irritation on his face as he regarded the detective in silence.

When neither man said anything, Sherlock dropped his gaze, then stiffened at the sight of his own riding crop, resting on the floor at John’s feet. Next to it was a leather case, one he’d never seen before. He shot John a questioning look.

The blonde man smiled slightly, but there wasn’t much warmth to it. “My tool case, from way back when. You’ve seen the photos.”

 _Oh_. Sherlock took a small breath, and merely nodded. He didn’t think he was allowed to speak.

John chuckled at his silence. “That’s not what this is about, Sherlock, I don’t give a rat’s arse that you saw the photos. You had to know I’m bisexual, who cares what my...kinks, are.” His face hardened, and he leaned forward, unfolding his legs. “What matters to me, at this moment, is that you lied to me earlier, you told me that you didn’t have a case--and then you rushed off straight into danger, without Greg for backup, or me, or even your bloody brother in the know. I was helpless when I found out you were in danger.” His gaze dropped to the items on the floor. “And I, for one, do not enjoy helplessness.”

Sherlock sucked in a breath to respond, but John raised a hand to cut him off. “I’m angry, Sherlock, but more than that, I am so _very_ relieved that you are alright, and back within my reach.” He stood, crossing to where the detective waited, a little shell-shocked, in the center of the room. Stopping directly in front of him, he tilted his head, letting Sherlock see his intentions in the glance he flicked at the taller man’s pale lips.

“Do you want this?” he asked softly, firmly, a question that required an answer.

The air fled Sherlock’s lungs, and his reply was breathless. “Yes. Yes, John, so very much.”

That was all it took for John to kiss him, their mouths sliding together wet and hot and a little bit dirty, tongues exploring-- _oh_ , John was certainly a leader, he did not allow Sherlock to set the pace, even in their kiss--and then Sherlock pulled back a little, panting. “Is this--I mean--I’m in trouble?”

John’s eyes twinkled lightly. “I am angry with you, Sherlock, but I don’t want to hurt you. If that--” He waved over his shoulder, indicating the leather case. “--is not appealing to you, it’s fine. I’ll find my own means of showing you that you’re mine.” Sherlock shivered at the words, and John’s smirk widened. “Your choice, love. I just need you to know that this--” He darted up on the balls of his feet to press a fierce kiss to Sherlock’s pale lips. “--this is real. Not about me being angry. But if you left those photos open for a specific reason...”

He drew away, walking slowly back from Sherlock, letting the man watch how his body moved as he retreated the leather chair and sank down. He smiled again, unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt and slowly rolling the sleeves up. “If so...then yes, you are in trouble. A great deal of it.” He met the man’s gleaming glasz eyes. “You have to tell me your limits, love.”

For a moment Sherlock was unnaturally still, gazing at John with no-longer-concealed hunger. Almost unconsciously, he moved to tug off his scarf and unbutton his coat, leaving them draped over John’s ignored chair. He toed off his shoes, as well, and stripped off the socks before he straightened, his bare feet looking ghostly against the dark floorboards. His purple shirt strained over his chest as he breathed heavily, and with the space between them, John could see the detective’s interest quite clearly defined by a rather blatant curve at the front of his trousers. He licked his lips, waiting.

And then Sherlock slid gracefully to his knees, and John’s whole body locked down. His breath froze in his lungs, and a soft sound came from him, an almost-groan. His fingers twitched with the desire to reach for the kneeling man, but still he waited.

Without prompting, Sherlock lowered himself to his hands as well, and crawled-- _actually bloody crawled_ \--forward the last few feet between them. When he reached John’s feet, those beautiful blue/grey eyes glided up, gazing needfully at John through the fringe of his shockingly long lashes, and a sinful little smirk curled his lips up.

“If it answers your question, my safeword is ‘ _autophobia_ ,’’” he murmured, remaining up on his hands and knees, letting the length of his body remain extended gracefully in John’s line of sight.

His words made the doctor frown slightly, even as his gaze roamed over the offered view with interest. “Long-standing choice?”

“Mm.” Sherlock shifted forward marginally, then back, realizing he hadn’t been invited to touch yet. “I...don’t like being left alone during a scene.”

John’s hand was suddenly on his head, fingers carding with unexpected gentleness through the thick black curls, and Sherlock whimpered with pleasure at the sensation. His doctor’s voice was firm and close to his ear when he replied. “I will _never_ leave you alone if you’re not ready to be, do you understand, love?”

Sherlock nodded weakly, pressing his head into that delightful grip. He heard John’s breath, steady and soft overhead. The doctor sounded slightly awed. “I didn’t realize you were...that you actually...”

“That I am a sub?” Sherlock smiled to himself. “No, most people wouldn’t think so, even if they’re familiar with the lifestyle. They just don’t see the signs.” He tipped his head back, letting John see the feeling in his eyes. “I need this. The ability to drift away and just let my mind float, no longer spinning a thousand miles per hour, no longer processing and producing more data and results than I can bear...it is quiet, when someone with a firm hand and the ability to read me can just....take over.”

John took a deep breath, touched by the insight into his mad detective’s incredible mind. “Well, then,” he muttered. When Sherlock met his gaze again, he smiled. “Sherlock, do you trust me?”

A ripple flowed through the man’s entire body, and John watched him enter his submissive mindset, the tension and strain of the day practically dripping out of him as he pressed his cheek into John’s still-outstretched palm. “Yes, John,” the man breathed.

“Right then,” John said, and suddenly the negotiating was done, this was the voice a Dom who knew that he wanted, the voice of Captain John Watson, who would not allow misbehavior. “Sherlock, you deliberately tricked me and ran off on your own today. Put yourself in unnecessary danger, with no one nearby who could help you. Hush,” he added sharply, when Sherlock opened his mouth in his own defense. Sherlock closed it again.

Nodding approvingly, John leaned back, gazing down at him with fire in his eyes. “Hand me the riding crop, love. Stay on your knees.”

Sherlock considered those instructions for a second, then let himself bend neatly at the elbows, bringing his face down to the floor. He heard John’s sharp little intake of breath, and he felt pride surge through him, warm and welcome. Good move, then. His teeth closed carefully around the unyielding handle of the strap, a slight nudge of his tongue securing his grip on it. Straightening back onto all fours, he raised his head, his neck arching beautifully as he offered the crop to John.

The doctor let out a long breath, his pupils dilating as he stared at the stunning vision before him. Despite the effect Sherlock was having on him, though, his hand was utterly steady as he reached out to take the crop. Running his fingers almost lovingly over the leather, he gave Sherlock a steel-eyed glance, then nodded at the case. “Shirt off, then open that up and tell me how you’d prefer to have your hands restrained.”

Eagerly Sherlock lifted his hands just long enough to slide the silk shirt down and off his arms, letting it pool forgotten on the floor. When he turned his attention to the case, his hands were gentle, almost reverent, and he was barely breathing.

The collection within stole a whimper from him, and John smiled affectionately at him, stretching out his hand and letting just the wide head of the riding crop trail over Sherlock’s bare shoulders. Even the slight contact made him shudder, and he turned lust-blown eyes to his Dom with a hopeful smile. John tsked and jerked his chin at the case, making Sherlock return his attention to his task.

Those dexterous fingers roamed curiously over plain handcuffs, padded and leather-lined alternatives, silk ropes, Irish eights, and even an ordinary leather belt. He paused at the silk ropes, assessing their strength and give.

John’s voice was a low rumble. “I’ll give you another three seconds, and then I decide for you.”

Sucking in a breath, Sherlock handed over the ropes eagerly, then sighed in relief as John leaned over him, his body a warm and protective presence covering his own. John carefully crossed the submissive’s wrists over each other and bound them with the ropes, testing to be certain he couldn’t slip them too quickly, and ruin the fun. Satisfied, he sat back, gazing hungrily down the length of Sherlock’s back, flexing and already gleaming with perspiration.

“I think, love, that you need ten for giving me such a fright today...and another five for your ‘subtle’ little nudge after finding the photos. You could’ve asked me outright, and we’d have been here days ago, you know.” Absently his bare foot slid over the curve of Sherlock’s erection, which was straining against his expensive trousers, and the detective emitted a tiny groan and pushed up into the pressure gratefully, only to whimper in protest when it was immediately removed.

“No, this isn’t about your pleasure yet, love. You need to take your punishment first. Then we’ll see about some relief, hm?” John chuckled when Sherlock nodded emphatically, flicking the crop through the air. “Right, then. Turn that lovely arse around, let’s see the canvas, shall we?”

Sherlock more than willingly twisted on his haunches, angling so that his lower body was extended toward the Dominant. Pleasurable shivers ran up and down his body, and he raised his head, preening slightly beneath the weight of John’s approving stare.

John leaned forward, reaching around to unfasten Sherlock’s belt and trousers and tug them down in one swift movement, dragging them just far enough to bare the detective’s arse for his view. Sherlock whined softly, making John laugh and swat him gently, before he stood and took his position behind the waiting sub. “Fifteen strokes, love. Count for me.”

The first several were easy, and John felt pride surge through him for how well behaved Sherlock was, leaning into the blows just the right amount, breathlessly murmuring the count. Close to ten they became more difficult, his voice cracking slightly, his shoulders tensing and releasing as he tried to measure his breathing. As they reached the last of them--“...thir--thirten....fourteen!...oh...fifteen...”--John was overwhelmed by his desire to simply reach out and cradle the submissive to his chest, but he resisted.

Instead he calmly set the crop aside, then moved to crouch in front of Sherlock, cupping his chin with one hand and raising his face to look into his eyes. They glittered with tears, but there was a serene smile there that reassured John. “You’re alright, love?” he asked softly, and Sherlock nodded, tipping forward to press his face to his chest.

“I angered you, and you punished me,” he mumbled into John’s shirt. “I am at peace.”

John chuckled, standing and returning to the armchair. “Well, I’m not done with you yet, love. Time for the reward part of tonight’s activities.”

Sherlock gave a full-body wriggle of excitement, shuffling around with his trousers still bunched at his thighs and moving the last few inches to be able to press his cheek to John’s leg. The Dominant ran a loving hand through his curls, indulging the nuzzling for a moment before pushing Sherlock away.

He shifted to the edge of the chair, leaning over the kneeling man and gazing down at him hungrily. From this angle, he could quite clearly see Sherlock’s bare arse, and the scarlet stripes from the crop, standing out in stark contrast to his alabaster skin. His mouth tightened. “Sherlock, before we continue, do you need me to put some oil on the flog marks?”

The detective whined low in his throat, shaking his head. His voice was barely more than a mumble. “I like it, I need the sting, John...” he muttered. And then he scooted closer, rising up onto his knees, and leaned in to try and mouth at John’s cock.

It took all of John’s willpower not to cave and accept the offer, to unfasten his trousers and shove his prick down Sherlock’s throat, but he refused to to give in so easily.

His fingers twisted in the thick hair, dragging his head back as he leveled a reprimanding glare at the sub. “You are not in charge, you cocky bastard, and you don’t top from the bottom.” His free hand pushed down on Sherlock’s shoulder, pressing his red-striped arse against his calves, and making him hiss in pain.

Without releasing his grip on the man’s hair, John rose and moved behind Sherlock, tugging his head back and exposing his throat. Leaning down over him, he trailed hard, biting kisses down Sherlock’s neck, loving the low moans tumbling from him. The hand he had on the sub’s shoulder trailed down to his chest, and he pinched his nipples, feeling them harden and pebble beneath his fingertips. Every tweak caused Sherlock to jerk in place, his hips bucking, and John gave his bruised arse another light swat, earning one more little cry of pleasure.

Without any verbal warning or hint, John slid his hand back around to Sherlock’s front, stroking carefully over his sweat-slicked skin, following the panes of his stomach, his hipbones, and trailing through the fine, smooth hair at his groin--but never touching his straining cock, leaving it curving beautifully up toward his abdomen. He could feel the detective quivering slightly, trembling with the need to arch forward, to force contact, but the sub behaved himself, remaining as still as he could.

After a few moments of teasing, however, Sherlock let out a helpless little whine, choking out, “John, I’m close, I’m--I’m so close, please--”

“Without even being touched, hm?” John murmured, the pride clear in his tone--but he withdrew his hand, smiling as Sherlock moaned in protest, a tremor rippling through him and making his erection sway rather beautifully. He waited, watching until he could see that the pressure had subsided, that Sherlock was not one touch from coming, and then he resumed his teasing, the touch light and precise but never where the detective so desperately wanted it.

They went through it two more times, Sherlock beginning to whimper more loudly, finally breaking down and warning that he was close--he knew better than to try to trick his Dom, he knew not to come without permission--and John removing his hand, letting his lover cool down for a moment before he continued.

And then Sherlock broke down, genuine tears collecting in his gorgeous eyes, and his voice was cracking as he gasped out, “John, _please_ , please just _touch_ me--please sir, I’ll do anything, please just touch my cock--!”

John hummed in appreciation for the begging, reaching to give Sherlock’s neglected prick a few reassuring pulls, then letting go. Before Sherlock could say a word, however, John had grasped his waist and moved him forward, guiding him to bend over the seat of the armchair. The submissive made a soft, whimpering sob of gratitude, and John chuckled as he crouched behind him once more.

“We’re getting there, love, I intend to be inside you very soon--is that what you want?” At Sherlock’s raw groan of affirmation, the Dom patted his still-scarlet arse cheeks lovingly, then settled down to study him. “God, Sherlock, you’re stunning, you know that? Such beautiful skin, pale and soft and now--look at this,” he murmured reverently, stroking his fingertips over the red lines, feeling the muscle tremble beneath his touch. “Gorgeous.”

Fetching a tube of lubricant from his case, he slicked two fingers, running them carefully around the rim of his lover’s entrance, adjusting him to the sensation of John touching him. Sherlock rocked his hips back needfully, getting a low laugh from John. Very gently, he began to ease a finger in, watching closely as Sherlock went still at the penetration.

And then the detective groaned in carnal need, his bound hands straining to reach back, trying to spread his own arse cheeks and bare himself to John’s view. It was flawless, too perfect, and John hissed out a breath and thrust his finger all the way in to the knuckle--then froze, waiting, only to bark out a relieved laugh as Sherlock merely keened in pleasure and began to wriggle again, fucking himself on the intruding digit.

“More, John, please, more?” The sub’s voice was ragged, his fingers clenching in his own flesh as the tight ring of muscle began to give way to John’s prodding.

The Dom leaned over him, pressing loving kisses against Sherlock’s back, his tongue tracing the hard ridges of the sub’s spine as he eased a second finger in, thrusting and scissoring to open him up. “You look so amazing like this, love,” he whispered, his own voice full of awe. “Bent over for me, your trousers ‘round your thighs, legs spread wide...God, you’re simply stunning. I can’t say that enough.”

Sherlock was shaking, his thighs trembling with pleasure from both John’s touch, and his voice. The compliments were reducing him to whimpers and sighs, of pleasure and pride, and John chuckled, leaning close to breathe his words onto the sub’s skin.

“Right, love, now you have a few options. You can get fucked just like this--face down over this chair, on your knees; I could work your trousers off, flip you over and put you on your back, legs around me; or I could switch us ‘round, sit back down and have you ride me, right here in your chair. Hm?”

Sherlock was shuddering violently, his shoulders tensing as he struggled with the decision, and John jumped to make it easier on him, not wanting to yank him out of his subspace. “Don’t fret, love, you’ll get all those scenarios and more, eventually. Just decide what you want right this second. We’ll get to them all.”

Relief flooded his lover’s posture, and John’s heart tugged with sympathy as he realized what the detective had been assuming about their liaison. "Oh, love, no. I promise you, this will happen again. Many times."

Sherlock’s shoulders steadied, his body unclenching as his Dom’s words comforted him, and his voice was low as he spoke. “Then--then second option, please, John--I want to--to see you, the first time, please, sir?”

John felt warmth and pride explode in his chest, and he hummed in approval, reaching up to tug the ropes loose from Sherlock’s wrists. Pulling his fingers from the sub’s now well-stretched hole--he laughed as Sherlock groaned at the loss--John gently worked his trousers down his legs, patting his lover’s thigh as Sherlock obligingly shuffled around, rolling over and allowing John to finish stripping him.

And then the detective grunted in shock and pleasure as John pressed him down, pinning him to the wide seat of the armchair, before he grabbed the man’s impossibly long legs and wrapped them around his own waist. He yanked the zip down on his trousers, tugging his cock free, and grabbing the lube.

Their eyes met as he slicked himself up, the unspoken question about the lack of a condom answered with a quick nod, and John discarded the tube as he lined himself up, then thrust slowly inside.

Sherlock let out a long, airless cry of relief as the Dom began to fuck him, hips snapping forward to take him rough and fast, every thrust hard and without mercy. They were both close already, and the intensity of finally coming together was almost overwhelming.

Then Sherlock curled one hand around John’s bicep, grasping at the sweat-soaked fabric of his shirt, drawing the Dom’s attention back to his face. The sub was glowing, his eyes blown wide and glassy with pleasure as he arched into John’s movements, whimpers catching in his throat with each pounding thrust.

“John,” he gasped out. “John--would you--kiss me, please, sir?”

Pure, simple affection surged through the Dom, and he smiled, knowing Sherlock would see and understand the love in his eyes. Leaning down, he pressed his mouth against his lover’s, the kiss messy and slippery and jerky as they continued to rock together, not quite able to bring themselves to stop the grinding of their hips.

The shift came when Sherlock jerked his mouth away, throwing his head back with a low cry of need, slamming his hips up against John and then going very still. His voice was barely there as he whimpered, “Jo-- _Sir_ , may I-- _please_ may I--?”

Pride flowed through every fiber of John’s being, and he leaned down to press desperate, sloppy kisses to Sherlock’s throat and chest, gasping into his slick skin, “Yes, love, yes, come for me now!”

Sherlock’s entire body went rigid, suspended in a graceful arch as he slammed himself down onto John’s cock once more, shattering with the force of his orgasm. Hot ropes of cum splashed between their bodies, painting his torso with streaks of white that smeared instantly as he rubbed himself up against John. The Dom held him close, cradling his body as he shook through the aftershocks.

Sherlock clung to John’s shoulders, his face tucked into his neck and his breath coming in short pants. A small wriggle of his hips reminded him that his Dom was still buried inside him, John’s entire body still and quaking as he fought to stay still, not wanting to hurt Sherlock.

The sub breathed a laugh, sucking a small love bite into John’s throat. “Please, sir, please come in me?”

John’s arms tightened around him, and he turned his face to kiss Sherlock hard, conveying all his pride and love and pleasure through the gesture as he recovered his rhythm, moving more gently now, pressing into the heat and pressure of his lover’s body until his own climax overtook him. With a low groan of, “Christ, _Sherlock_ ,” John came, thrusting deep and holding Sherlock securely.

For a few moments they were both silent aside from their panting, trembling slightly as the post-coital bliss seeped through them. Then Sherlock squirmed, mumbling something like, “Chair--neck,” and John chuckled, pulling back slowly to let the sub sit up a little more. Stroking the sweaty curls back from his lover’s face, John smiled up at the detective.

“Alright?”

Sherlock gave him a look of bliss and relief, nodding and nuzzling against John’s palm. “Very.” He glanced down, making a face at the sticky mess coating both their bodies. “May I clean us off, sir?”

John grinned, pleased that Sherlock didn’t just immediately abandon his submissive mentality when the sex was over. “Yes, thank you, love. Good boy,” he added, happy that the praise made Sherlock perk up as he shuffled carefully to the bathroom for towels.

It was later, when they had cleaned off and curled up together in Sherlock’s bedroom, that John felt the tension easing back into Sherlock’s shoulders. He leaned over the lounging submissive, kissing the rippling skin where the muscles were bunching up from stress.

“What are you worrying about, Sherlock?” His tone gave no permission for reticence. He knew the other man heard that, because he looked guilty, but he didn’t refuse to answer.

“It’s just--well, you said if I’d asked, we’d have been here sooner, but...does that mean that you didn’t want it, yourself? You could have said--”

John cut him off, stroking a hand loving through his hair, soothing the anxious sub. “I truly didn’t realize you were submissive, love. I wasn’t even certain you’d be willing to bottom--and I really am quite firm about topping. When you left those photos open on my computer, I had no idea what you were trying to say...and then your face, when I grabbed your arm at the crime scene, remember?” He chuckled as Sherlock blushed, his eyes lighting up with arousal at the memory. “Then I knew that you wanted...this, same as I did. I never imagined it would turn out so perfectly.”

He moved up, pressing a firm kiss to the sub’s lips. “I meant it, Sherlock. Every scenario you want. Anything you’d like to try. I’m in if you are.”

The detective nodded eagerly, his eyes glowing with excitement and affirmation as he returned John’s kiss, cuddling into his chest and wrapping his long arms around the Dom as they settled down to rest.

**Author's Note:**

> ...yeah so even though I headcanon totally see John as a Dom, I can't seem to write him as such. Huh.


End file.
